Kathryn Merwin | Poetry

Crow Moon

How is it like this: I crawlinto you, bewildered, dry-tongued. You openlike Pangea, waterlog, drown me. The hard skinof your back reminds me of coconuts, the silk, the waymy fingers slide beneath the shell to spreadyielding, milky skins. I can wrench one openwith a knife and a mallet. I can break itapart in my hands, look straight into its hollowness. Youspeak to me in tongues through the still rimof hemispheres. Your cold words ringthrough the hollow of this place, of yourbody, my own.